


under the broken moon (the heart howls)

by L4ndOfTheL0st



Category: RWBY
Genre: Action, Bumbleby - Freeform, F/F, Flirting, Gay Special Agent BEES, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Dark Themes, Mystery, Romantic semi-slowburn, Sexual Tension TM, Werewolves, Yang is a mess, adding as i go, complicated feelings, lil bit of violence, not a slowburn on the sexual aspect tho, the angst is real, the au nobody asked for, there do be some spice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L4ndOfTheL0st/pseuds/L4ndOfTheL0st
Summary: Going home digs up bad memories, so it’s something Bureau of Special Investigations agent Yang Xiao Long tries to avoid. When she’s guilted into a visit, Yang brings along Blake, her new partner, in the hopes the trip will help clarify their status as a couple…or not. She didn't really know anymore.When they uncover a body in the yard and Tai-yang Xiao Long is the prime suspect, Yang knows they’re on their own.Though, she knows one thing for sure: she’s not ready to say goodbye, but with the real killer inching ever closer, she may not have a choice.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Bumblebee - Relationship, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	1. Episode 1

**Author's Note:**

> My brains goes from one thing to the next...quarantine, huh?

“Birthday, anniversary, or apology?”

Yang looked up from pretending to check her scroll while loitering under one of the young trees that lined Vale’s streets. An older human woman stood, leaning against the doorway of the shop behind her. How long had she been watching her? She felt a flare of annoyance with herself when she realized she had no idea. She was distracted today. 

The blonde gave her her best confused look. “Sorry?”

The woman smiled knowingly at her and tilted her head at the shop across the busy street, her long hair swaying like leaves in the wind. “You’ve been standing here staring at that flower shop for fifteen minutes. So is it for her birthday or anniversary, or are you making up for a fight? Because I’ve been married for thirty-two years, and believe me, there are different bouquets for different occasions.”

Yang smiled, relaxing slightly. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“Anniversary has got to be something sexy. Roses. Roses are good. Classic. Desirable. If you’re married and had flowers at the wedding, add some of those. She’ll be impressed by the thought.”

“I’m not married.” She paused, then added, “That’s, uh, yeah...”

She simply smiled and nodded. “All right. If it’s an apology, go with her favorite flower. A lot of them.”

“I don’t know her favorite flower.” She sucked her teeth. “I’m not sure she even has one,” Yang added defensively. “What about birthday?”

“Something that goes with the gift you got her because you better not just be walking in with some lousy flowers. So which is it?”

Yang let out a bright laugh. “What if I want to get her flowers just because?”

She raised an eyebrow and sniffed. “Uh-huh, right. You-fucked-up-flowers it is, then.”

Yang’s smile froze on her face and she gave a little reflexive jerk of her head. “Nah,” she said.

Well. Possibly.

There was, of course, that whole unwitting accomplice to a psychotic serial killer hell-bent on destroying the entire wolf species thing four months ago. If anyone was keeping track, that definitely counted as a fuckup. But Yang doubted there were enough flowers in the cramped corner shop across the street for an apology that size. And _’Sorry I almost got you killed’_ just wouldn’t look right on one of those tiny cards they stuck to bouquets.

Besides, the incident was on the list of things she and Blake _Did Not Talk About_.

Although there were always reminders, she thought, looking down at her arm.

“Hmm.” The woman eyed her knowingly. “Not an apology, you were saying?”

“No, really. What kind of flowers for just because?”

“That depends on just because _what_. Just because you love her?”

Yang coughed. She didn't have nearly enough time to even _begin_ to unpack that. “What are my other options?”

She snorted. “Like that, is it? You sound like my second husband, Steve. He wasn't very good with feelings either. He just got me a daisy. Dead by the end of the work week. Don’t be a daisy girl, friend.”

“I thought you said you’ve been married for thirty-two years.”

“And I was. Just not to the same man or for consecutive sentences.” She cackled. “Anyway, before you go sending messages, maybe you better figure out what it is you want to say. You better hurry up, though. Looks like they’re closing.”

Yang followed her gaze, and sure enough, Tukson was pulling the outside display of autumnal arrangements back into his shop.

“Fuck. Excuse me. Uh, thanks for the advice,” She muttered.

The woman waved her on. “Just tell her how you feel and the flowers won’t matter,” she called after her as Yang crossed the street.

Easier said than done. She wasn’t sure how she felt. She did, however, have a pretty good idea of how Blake was going to feel after this. Yang checked her scroll with a curse. Blake was supposed to meet her here with the search warrant while Yang made sure Tukson stayed put. Only _now_ , he was closing shop forty-five minutes early and Blake wasn’t back yet.

“Don’t go in without me,” Blake had said before they’d separated.

“Then how am I supposed to intimidate and threaten innocent wolves into confessing while you’re not looking?” Yang had replied. “I’m joking.” She’d put her hands up at Blake’s raised brow. If by joking she meant repeating verbatim the things her colleagues said snidely about her behind her back. And to her face.

Blake was apparently not in the mood for that. “I just don’t want my partner confronting a dangerous suspect on her own. So just...wait for me outside, okay?”

 _I can take care of myself. I was doing this job just fine before you. You should trust me._ None of that was true. Not now. But they didn’t talk about that either. Some roads don’t always lead you home. “Fine. Got it.”

The faunus had hesitated, looking uncharacteristically unsure, and began to say something else, but Yang cut her off, gently grabbing her arm and rubbing her thumb over the crook of Blake’s elbow, her sensitive spot. “I won’t go in without you kitten,” she added playfully, using the term of endearment she pretended to hate.

Blake had snapped her mouth closed and blushed. Still, her expression was…troubled? Disbelieving? But thankfully she hadn’t pushed it.

And now? Yang walked into the flower shop and a cluster of bells announced her arrival, unnecessarily, as Tukson was standing right at the front window display, unplugging the neon open sign.

“Hey there.” Yang said dazzlingly, and continued into the store without pause, scanning the bouquets. Blake didn’t want her confronting a dangerous suspect, fine. She didn’t relish the idea either. She just needed to stop Tukson from closing in order to buy Blake some time. What kind of small business owner would kick out a potential paying customer?

She perused the store and made her way toward the back, letting herself imagine, just for a moment, that she really was here buying her girlfriend some just-because flowers. What would she even get Blake?

She smiled slowly, remembering the night they’d spent together watching movies at Blake’s place right before getting called out to Vale for this case.

_~_

_Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once. The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, will make man or woman madly dote upon the next live creature that it sees._

Yang had frowned at the TV, trying to follow the loopy language. “So _basically_ he’s telling that naked kid to go get him a roofie?”

Blake had hit her lightly and readjusted on the couch so that her head was in Yang’s lap facing the TV. “It’s not a roofie, it’s Cupid’s flower. Love-in-idleness.”

“A flower that drugs you into thinking you’re in love. Uh-huh, right. So are there cops in this forest or what?”

“Shh, you’re going to miss the best part.”

Yang had shut up and ran her fingers absently through Blake’s hair, too relaxed to make another teasing comment. Usually a fairly hard-core movie fan—or obsessed according to a certain someone—that night she couldn’t stop her attention from drifting away from the screen to watching Blake instead, who was mouthing the occasional line along with the actors. She wondered if Blake ever missed being a professor and teaching Lit classes. She was always bringing over books for Yang to read and wanting to talk about them. Yang hadn't really been much of an English student, but watching Blake explain them excitedly afterward and then having her listen so intently when Yang ventured her own tentative opinion had recently given her a new appreciation for the subject.

When Blake had shown up with a literal tome of Shakespeare’s plays, though, Yang had drawn the line and suggested a compromise.

Blake could pick a film adaptation of a Shakespeare play as long as she then sat through a real classic movie of Yang’s choosing.

Yang had to admit some of them weren’t _too_ bad. Unfortunately, the most interesting part of this 1930s A Midsummer’s Night Dream so far was a totally wild, full-body sparkle suit. “King of the fairies is right,” Yang had crowed. That got her another smack, but it was weak and shaking with laughter.

When the credits had finally rolled, though, Yang was troubled. She tucked Blake’s midnight hair behind her ear, thinking.

”B?”

”Hm?”

“If you knew the person you loved had fallen in love with you because of some psychedelic magic ‘shrooms—” she began to ask, hesitant.

“Cupid’s—”

“Yeah, yeah, Cupid’s flower, oxlips, wild thyme, brier rose and eglantine, I got it. But if you knew they loved you ’cause of magic would you stay with them anyway? Keeping in mind you’re not the one who squirted Love Potion Number Nine in their eyes to begin with and curing them is not an option.”

Blake had gone very still in her lap and Yang couldn't see her expression at that angle. Not that it would have mattered. Blake had a skill for keeping secrets behind that mask of hers. She was a shadow that caged herself at night, a prisoner to her own neverending darkness, and Yang _knew_.

The sun never came up in Blake’s world, so she found her own.

“I don’t know,” The faunus said eventually. “I’d like to think I wouldn’t, but people are stupid when they’re in love.” Yang snorted an agreement. “Fortunately for me, magic doesn’t exist, so I don’t need to find out.”

Yang made a noncommittal noise. But to her, the existence of magic was in the eye of the beholder. And according to her own eye, looking down at an honest-to-god faunus messing with her jeans, magic was a _lot_ closer to being real than it had been.

There were too many unknowns here, why stop now?

Blake twisted her head in Yang’s lap so that she was looking up and smiled. “Not that I need supernatural help to really appreciate a good ass.”

“Yeah, yeah. It isn't better than _yours_ , though. ’Cuz good lord that ass is _divine_.” Yang had spanked said ass playfully and the evening might have gotten a lot more interesting if Ironwood hadn’t called moments later about a vicious werewolf attack in Vale.

~

In the shop, Yang gently ran her fingers over a bouquet of yellow roses. She wished she remembered what Cupid’s flower was actually supposed to be. Pansies, maybe? She could get some for Blake. As a joke, of course. And obviously not in the middle of a brutal homicide investigation. Maybe when they got home. Her home, not Blake’s. Though more and more her apartment felt unbalanced without Blake’s body beside her. Or underneath her.

While the latter was _quite_ nice, she preferred the former most of the time. She liked the intimacy it brought, it made her feel whole. Blake would lay a hand on her cheek like she knew her heart was missing a piece of itself, and set her free– a dependent beating of blood like a symphony.

_Stop that. Dangerous. Don’t go there._

She let her fingers drop. She had to pay attention to the case or there was a real possibility she didn’t make it out of here at _all_ , never mind home.

It wasn’t a sound, but a familiar prickling low on the back of her neck that told her Tukson had finally followed her back into the store. Yang threw her hands to her heart dramatically anyway when he cleared his throat right behind her.

“Oh, yikes. You scared me.”

Tukson peered unapologetically at the blonde. His faded hazel eyes shifting as he stepped even closer, into a shaft of late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the flowers. “We were just about to close,” he said, but even he seemed unsure.

“Oh, please,” Yang said loudly, injecting some whine into her voice. “I won’t be long—I’m on my way to my girlfriend’s house and I can’t show up without flowers. I fucked up big-time, you see, and I have it on good authority that apology flowers have to be big, and my baby deserves the biggest.” She winked at him.

Tukson stared back at her, no flicker of humor or even recognition in those blank eyes. Like social interactions were something he’d learned to wait out but did not care to participate in himself, which for a shop owner couldn’t have been too lucrative. No wonder the guy had gotten mixed up with money laundering. _Allegedly_.

“So, uh, what kind of flowers do you recommend?”

Without looking away from Yang, Tukson reached to his right and grabbed a small bouquet of daisies dyed—or perhaps genetically modified—bright, unnatural fall colors. The thought of giving them to Blake made her snort.

_Don’t be a daisy girl, friend._

“Uh, actually I was thinking something a bit bigger and, um, flashier. I want it to look luxurious, know what I mean?”

Tukson studied her for a moment, then put the daisies back and walked past her toward the back of the store. Yang trailed behind. Most of the overhead lights back here had already been shut off, and heavy plastic curtains had been rolled down, covering the coolers where the more delicate flowers were kept. Yang noted an unmarked door tucked behind a display of ferns.

She quickly checked that her Taser, modified to take down wolves, and her gun were available and hidden at her shoulder and hip. It would be bad enough when Blake found out she’d broken her promise to not approach the suspect alone. To do so unprepared…well, maybe buying some big flashy flowers wouldn’t go amiss after all. Not that Blake was really a flowers kind of girl, all jokes aside. Nor was she _technically_ her girlfriend. Maybe. That, too, was on the list of things they didn't talk about. It was a long list.

“Lilies are very popular amongst fighting couples,” Tukson explained, pulling back a rubbery plastic sheet to show a couple dozen beautiful lilies.

“I have a cat. Pretty sure that’s bad for them.” Yang shrugged apologetically, and couldn’t help herself from glancing over Tukson’s shoulder toward the front door. _Blake, where the hell are you?_

“I thought these were for your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, she, uh, lives with me. And my cat.”

Tukson blinked once, slowly, looking almost like a cat himself. No, not a cat– a _predator_ was waking up behind his eyes. His face, however, remained eerily blank as he stepped directly into Yang’s space, forcing her to back up against the plastic curtain. The hum of the flower cooler drowned out the noise from the street, and the delicate fragrance of lilies became choking this close, like perfume in an elevator.

“I thought you said you were on your way to your girlfriend’s place,” Tukson murmured. His hands quickly closed around Yang’s wrists.

 _Fuck_ , Yang thought. She should have drawn her weapon before this. She shouldn’t have let Tukson get this close. Really, truly, she should have just gone with the fucking lilies.

The three deep scars on Yang’s stomach pulled unpleasantly as her skin tightened to gooseflesh, and phantom pains shot down her arm, a primitive awareness of danger kicking in too late, the memory of claws slicing flesh forever carved into her skin. She hunched in on her belly slightly as it cramped.

“Who are you?” Tukson asserted.

“Let go of me, dude. What’s your problem?” Yang tugged but his grip on her wrists tightened. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t unnaturally strong yet, either. Tukson was still trying to hide what he was, which meant he didn’t suspect who Yang was. She could still fix this.

“You’ve been lying. Why did you come here _really_?” He ordered.

“Look…” Yang affected an embarrassed look. “I wasn’t lying about living with my girlfriend, but I’m on my way to see this, uh, other girl. And I was just being cheap and was gonna split the bouquet between them, you know?”

Yang was surprised to see a flicker of disapproval escape Tukson’s blank mask, but the grip on her wrists slowly loosened and then dropped away altogether.

“Someone’s going to get hurt,” Tukson said finally.

Yang huffed. “Yeah, _me_.” She held up her wrists and tried to grin. Even if she couldn't feel it on her right arm, her left still got the brunt of it.

Tukson turned and walked away toward the counter. Yang could easily take out her Taser now. Disarm the suspect, cuff him, and wait here safely for Blake to arrive with the warrant.

But that wasn’t how the BSI did things, arrest first, investigate later. Not anymore, and that was a good thing. There was an order of due process to follow.

Some pollen from a rare flower sold only in this shop had linked Tukson to the body of a man suspected of running a money-laundering scheme with an unknown partner. A partner who had torn his throat out rather than split the payday. A classic wolf kill. Tukson was a wolf. What’s more, a witness had placed his car at the scene. That would have been more than enough to get him booked four months ago. Yang’s last partner, Cardin, would have Tasered and cuffed him before the bells above the door had stopped ringing.

And that’s not all Cardin would have done.

Yang swallowed the hot, acidic anger, guilt, and shame that threatened boil over and burn her alive there on the spot.

Follow procedure. She, more than anyone, couldn’t step out of line. So far all Tukson was officially guilty of was acting a bit weird. He couldn’t be arrested for terrible customer service.

Yang straightened her jacket and didn’t take out her weapon. “Are you—is everything okay?”

Tukson was staring at some long-stemmed sunflowers and didn’t seem to hear her question. He plucked a single yellow petal and rolled it between his fingertips. “I saw you,” he said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Across the street. Watching. I know. I _know_ who you are.” Yang reached slowly for her badge, but Tukson continued, “He’s downstairs.”

She paused, then retracted her hand, leaving her badge in her pocket. “Who? _Who’s_ downstairs, Tukson?”

He finally faced Yang, who stumbled back in surprise. His face wasn’t a blank mask now. It was transformed with fury and pain. His irises were larger, the hazel bleeding out into the white as the wolf peeked through.

“Don’t fuck with me!” he screamed, and shoved a display shelf of sprays proclaiming to keep flowers alive twice as long. The bottles rolled across the floor. “I know. I’ve known for weeks, and I can’t _take_ it anymore, okay? So just take him and—”

The discreet door behind the ferns opened and a short, faunus man burst into the room. “Tukson? I heard a crash. What’s—” He cut off and stared at Yang, who stared back.

Fennec Albain. The wolf who had come forward claiming to witness a silver sedan speeding away from the scene of the crime. Tukson’s car. Tukson, who Albain had claimed not to know. He’d lied.

Yang saw the exact moment Fennec realized he’d been recognized. Unfortunately, Yang’s reflexes weren’t quite as fast. She was still reaching for her Taser when he tackled her to the ground, pinning her arm between them.

“Fennec!” Tukson shouted somewhere beyond Albain’s snarling teeth inches from Yang’s face. “What the hell are you doing?” And then, “Fennec?” he repeated, sounding appalled as Albain lifted his right hand and extended his claws, four-inches long, sharp as razors and strong as steel.

“Go lock the door, Tukson,” Fennec said.

“What? No! Who is this?”

Albain’s canines elongated and his eyes flicked back toward Tukson. “Just go lock the fucking do—”

Yang slammed her head up into him, feeling the sick give of his nose. Albain bellowed, reaching instinctively for his face, and released Yang, who bucked him off and scrambled to the side on her belly.

He lunged after her, landing on her legs while his claws tore through the side of Yang’s jacket, snagging temporarily in the fabric. Yang grabbed one of the fallen pesticide bottles and swung it in the direction of Albain’s broken nose.

He let out a screech, inhuman and wet. His weight disappeared from her legs. Yang rolled to her back, pulled out her Taser, and aimed at Albain, who was struggling up to his knees while protectively covering his bloody, disjointed nose.

“Hands above your head!” Yang shouted. “Weapons away!”

Albain slowly put his hands up. His claws retracted, though his eyes were still all brown, no white, and shimmered a bit in the dim light of the shop.

Tukson, standing in place in shock, seemed to rouse himself and stumbled forward as if to stand between Yang and Fennec.

“Sir, I need you to stay where you are,” Yang said without looking away from Fennec, whose eyes narrowed. Yang could practically see him smell an opportunity. She didn’t doubt Albain would sacrifice Tukson if it provided the distraction he needed to escape. Whatever other issues she and Blake had, these two made them look like relationship goals.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this to us?” Tukson murmured.

Yang tried to keep her voice calm and soothing. Just because Tukson was too shocked to be threatening now didn’t mean he couldn’t rip her apart the minute she tried to take out Fennec. He was a wolf, too. Stronger, faster and deadlier than Yang on her best day. And this, quite clearly, was not turning out to be her best day. “My name is Special Agent Xiao Long and I’m with the BSI.” She ignored Tukson’s sharp gasp. “I don’t want to hurt you, so I need you to back up against the far wall while I cuff Mr. Albain here on suspicion of murder.”

“No,” Tukson said confidently. “Fennec would never—”

“Fennec _killed_ a man and tried to set you up to take the fall.”

“No,” He repeated, and took another step forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Yang saw Tukson’s claws extending slowly. “You’re lying.”

“Think about it, Tukson. How do you think I got here? How do you think Fennec recognized me? He’s been using your store to launder money, not caring that it could be traced back to you. He ripped out his business partner’s throat and then claimed to see your car leaving the crime.”

“Don’t listen to her, babe. The BSI just wants any excuse to round us all up and put us down.”

“Shut up, Albain,” Yang said. “Listen, you know I’m telling the truth. You suspected Fennec was lying about something, didn’t you? But you thought he was cheating on you, right? That’s why you were so suspicious of me before? Well, _this_ is what he was hiding. Why else would he have attacked me just now? Just let me cuff him and we can figure it all out.”

“No,” Tukson repeated again, though he sounded less sure now. Still, he took another step forward, effectively blocking Albain.

Yang tried to shift quickly, still on the floor, but almost too fast for her eyes to see, Albain slammed his hands into the back of Tukson’s knees and his claws shot out, slicing through jeans and into skin. He then sprang to his feet in one fluid motion, too smooth to be human. Tukson howled and toppled over toward Yang, who rolled out of the way just in time.

She fired her Taser at the now-standing Albain from below. He was back on the ground without a sound, unmoving and unconscious. A blessing, in Yang’s opinion, considering the Taser prongs stuck to his groin. Yang hurriedly cuffed Albain’s hands behind his back while she could.

“Fennec!” Tukson yelled, and scrambled toward his boyfriend.

“He’s fine. He’s just unconsciou—” Yang began, putting a hand to his shoulder and was promptly knocked onto her back with Tukson sitting on her, teeth fully extended and irises dilated to a full luminous hazel.

 _Dumbass, your boyfriend set you up. Twice_ , Yang wanted to say, but with Tukson’s claws pricking at her shoulders, through her jacket, she decided calling the guy an idiot was not her best bet.

“Tukson, don’t do this. It’s over. You don’t have to go down with him.”

He took a deep breath somewhere between a snarl and a sob. “Why did he drag me into this? Why couldn’t he just talk to me? Why couldn’t he just tell me he didn’t love me anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Yang said softly. Tukson’s hands relaxed their grip until they were just resting against her.

“Did he really hate me that much?” Tukson’s voice cracked like it was too thick with tears, snot, and hurt to fit in his throat.

Yang shook her head, reaching slowly for his wrists. “I don’t—”

There was a flash of movement to Yang’s right, and then Tukson disappeared with a sharp whimper, knocked off his chest by a blur too fast to be anything but another wolf. Yang scrambled for her gun and turned to see him pinned to the floor with someone kneeling on his back, ass waving in the air and cuffing his hands.

Yang left her gun holstered and flopped back on the floor with a sigh. She knew that ass. Knew it _very_ well indeed.

“Cutting it a bit close,” Yang muttered.

She heard a huff. “Our signals must have gotten crossed. I could have _sworn_ we said we’d meet outside.”

Blake loomed into her field of vision. Despite her light tone, Blake’s face was not amused. Her eyes were lighter than usual, a golden amber near-glowing themselves, and the corners were tense and crinkled. She looked older than when they’d first met, Yang realized, and far more tired. Perhaps that was what happened after four months of being partnered with Yang did to a person. Or perhaps that was what happened after four months of…whatever their personal relationship was.

“I know there’s a lot of green stuff in here, so it can get confusing for you, but this is actually _inside_.” Blake held her hand out. Yang grasped it and was pulled to standing. “You’re bleeding.” Blake frowned, reaching tentatively toward her face.

“No, I’m not,” The blonde protested, and ran an exploratory hand over her face. Nothing hurt, but when she examined her hand, sure enough, there were smears of blood there. “Albain must have snorted on me. Charming.”

“Who?”

Yang gestured toward Albain, just beginning to shake off the effects of the Taser. “Our killer, I think. He was going to blame poor Tukson, his boyfriend or whatever, for everything.”

Blake didn’t even bother looking over at Albain. Just raised an eyebrow and pulled Yang to her so she could inhale the side of her neck, her scent, something she seemed to do whenever she didn’t believe Yang wasn’t injured. “Poor _Tukson_? When I walked in he was on top of you.”

“He was just talking.”

“On top of you?”

“Like you can judge.” Yang caught a hint of smile against her throat.

“With his teeth out?” Blake murmured.

“I tend to have that effect on people.”

Blake stiffened and pulled away enough for Yang to see her frown. “You really do. Which is why you should have waited for me.”

“They were closing early. If I had waited, we might not have made the Albain connection in time.”

“You _should_ have—”

Yang pulled out of her grasp, putting some space between them. “I had it under control, Agent Belladonna.”

Blake opened and shut her mouth, biting off whatever she planned to say. She looked away from Yang. “Fine. Are you calling it in or am I?”

Yang didn’t have many fans in the bureau. She’d lost a lot of credibility after her last partner had taken a one-way trip to maximum security. Today, with two injured wolves on the scene, plenty of people would expect Yang to try and keep her name away from a potential clusterfuck like this. Blake was giving her that choice. Offering to take care of her. Which was _exactly_ why she couldn’t take it.

“I got this,” the blonde said. She turned away so she didn’t have to see Blake’s expression of doubt.

She rubbed a hand on her scars through her shirt, and thought of invisible wounds that don’t heal.

_I got this._


	2. Episode 2: Pt.1

After some persuasion, Fennec Albain did perhaps the only decent thing he could for his boyfriend and confessed. Not that he had a lot of choice in the matter. Once Yang and Blake knew where to look, the evidence fell into place to irrevocably prove Albain had murdered his business partner and was planning to run with one hundred percent of the profit and leave the entire mess in Tukson’s lap. They didn’t grow enough apology flowers in the world to fix _that_. But at least he admitted Tukson had nothing to do with it. He was just a perfect patsy who loved Fennec and who Fennec didn’t love back.

Even when both women had tied up the last details of the case and could finally drive out of town, Tukson had still been hanging around the station hoping to talk to Albain, hoping something would change. Hoping the past itself would change.

People fell out of love in phases, even when it should be the most obvious one-and-done sort of deal. Even when you were betrayed and realized the person you thought you cared for had never really existed to begin with. Not really. One moment you could hate them so much it made you sick, and the next moment your brain could totally forget it was even angry and just plain miss the person you used to know. Or thought you knew, anyway.

Yang was familiar with that well enough herself. Both with romantic relationships and platonic ones like—

She shook her head, rejecting the painful thought. The point was, she’d been there. So when the bureau had wanted to book Tukson for assaulting an agent, Yang managed to get the charges dropped, despite Blake’s disapproving frown. She couldn’t help it. She felt bad for him, she really did. She just hoped a relationship never made him look like that big a fool. Again.

Yang glanced automatically at her partner in the passenger seat. Blake had been quiet during the drive out of Vale. Well, even quieter than usual. Preoccupied. An indistinct tension had hovered between them ever since the flower shop, and it hadn’t been helped by the pair of BSI agents that arrived at the end of the day to oversee the transport of Albain. Yang didn't recognize them, but that didn’t mean much. Now that every BSI agent was paired with a Trust agent, she ran across more new faces every case and recognized the names of less than half. That didn’t mean they didn’t recognize her.

“Just couldn’t resist roughing him up, huh?” said the human BSI agent, Reese Chloris, as her Trust— _wolf_ —partner, Bolin, loaded Albain into the back of their van to take to the closest BSI specialized holding facility. “Electrocuting his dick wasn’t enough—you had to cave his face in, too?”

Blake began to speak, but Yang shook her head tightly. “Don’t.” She hated Blake feeling like she had to protect her. From her own colleagues, no less.

Besides, everything they said, she deserved.

The initiation of the new program pairing Trust and BSI agents was going well. Cases were being solved faster, relations with the wolf community were slowly, _very_ slowly, getting better, and improved training was making sure the guilty went where they were supposed to and the innocent didn’t get swept up in the investigation. For the most part.

It certainly wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t the disorganized, problematic, unchecked system of a few months ago that had allowed corruption and a serial killer to pass within their ranks. Baby steps. And surprisingly, most of the newly paired agents were getting along.

Just not with Yang.

Either they didn’t believe she hadn’t been involved with her ex-partner’s crimes or they thought she should be punished for not figuring it out sooner. Yang didn’t blame them. She just wondered if Blake ever felt the same way.

Yang had pushed to leave Vale as soon as they’d handed over Albain, even though there was no way they’d get all the way back to Patch tonight. They’d have to find another motel to stop halfway. But with Reese’s words burning in her mind and Blake’s loaded looks practically screaming unspoken questions and concern, she was just too antsy to hang around town. Now, however, trapped in a car and starting to feel the aches and pains of her tussle with Albain, she wished she hadn’t.

She glanced at Blake again, sitting up against the passenger-side door, cheek pressed to the window, one long, slender leg pulled up on the seat. It looked uncomfortable as hell, but Blake seemed not to care, lost in thought. Her tongue played with the tiny scar that bisected her upper lip, and her eyes were dilated, whiskey-gold now, nearly obliterating the white. They stood out in the dark, lighter than her dark hair and skin, especially when they caught the reflection of passing headlights and would flash that peculiar and inhuman, flat, yellowish-white. Even like this, quiet and contemplative, she looked…wild. _Dangerous_.

A passing car blared its horn, and Yang jerked her attention back to the road, swerving away from the lane she’d started to drift into.

“Fuck.” She rubbed at her eyes quickly, her pulse racing for a different reason than it had been a second ago. “Sorry.” The word sounded weird between them. How long had they been sitting in silence?

“Are you tired?”

The blonde hesitated. “Yeah, little bit.” Better somehow for her pride to admit fatigue than that she had gotten distracted staring at Blake.

“There’s a motel right off the next exit,” Blake said, checking her scroll. “I wouldn’t mind an early night.”

Yang cooly raised a blonde brow without looking away from the road. “Are you trying to seduce me, Ms. Belladonna?”

Blake laughed, a soft, warm sound. “Would I do something like that?”

“I don’t know, would you?” She waited, then added, “Please?”

Yang only caught the low growl because she was listening for it. It was one of her favorite noises recently and only slipped out when Blake’s meticulous, reserved mask cracked.

Unable to resist, Yang reached for her and Blake’s hand met her halfway, fingers nudging in between hers, always so eager for physical touch. Yang brought their clasped hands to her mouth, kissed Blake’s knuckles, and heard her sigh happily. That sound was pretty far up on her list, too.

“Who’s seducing who here?” Blake said, voice a little jagged.

“Right.” Yang dropped Blake’s hand, which fell into her lap, and gripped the wheel instead. “Do your worst.”

Apparently, she decided on ignoring the sarcasm.

Blake started to rub a slow circle into the blonde’s thigh.

“Okay, maybe not your worst. I’d rather not get pulled over, _thanks_.”

Blake huffed and walked her fingers up Yang’s arm teasingly instead. Yang bit down on her lip when they passed over the spot where Tukson’s claws had dug in, but it was useless trying to hide anything from Blake and her super-hearing. This was the same woman who had once come running across the apartment because she heard Yang inhale sharply while watching some Spruce Willis movie and thought something was seriously wrong.

Blake’s hand froze and pulled away. “You _were_ hurt.” Not a question. An accusation for lying earlier.

“It’s nothing. Probably happened before.”

“When?” She said bitingly, ears pining to her skull. “The cat showing her affection again?”

Blake and Ember had a curiously antagonistic relationship. Curious not because Ember was usually such a paragon of hospitality, but because Ember liked Blake while Blake went out of her way to avoid Ember and referred to her only as “the cat.”

Yang sighed. “Okay, so Tukson may have…scratched me a bit. But it didn’t even bleed. You know that’s true or you would have noticed it before now.” She tapped her nose.

Blake didn’t like that. “Take the next exit,” she said without any of the flirtation of a moment ago.

They drove in silence for a while, occasionally broken by Blake giving directions. Yang tried to keep her eyes on the road, but the long, flat, straight terrain made it too easy to look around. They were somewhere in Sanus now, and the night sky was so large she imagined she could see the curve of the atmosphere, resting above them like a contact lens. She thought about saying so, but Blake had closed her eyes and seemed…off. Lost in thought again and beyond Yang’s reach.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you upset that I got Tukson off?”

“Whoa,” Blake said evenly. “What exactly went down in that flower shop?”

Yang smiled and a flush of relief soothed her. If Blake was joking, they’d be okay, surely.

“I’m not upset,” Blake added eventually. “Anyway, it was your call.”

“Damn right it was. Besides, isn’t the guy gonna suffer enough? That’s gotta be, like, the worst breakup _ever_.”

“As long as you didn’t feel like you _had_ to drop the charges,” Blake said, and Yang stiffened, hands tightening on the wheel. It wasn’t often either of them referenced the animosity Yang got from the rest of the bureau, and she wasn’t sure she liked hearing it now, even indirectly.

She skirted around the question. “You’re the one always telling me prison is for rehabilitation, not punishment, and the only thing Tukson needs to rehabilitate is his broken heart. And his taste in lovers. I mean, I’ve had some pretty bad judgment in people before, clearly, but goddamn if it isn’t obvious from the outside.”

Blake hummed, possibly an agreement. “‘It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us,’” she said, like she was quoting something.

Her brain was always pretty sexy.

“That’s some pretty dismal pillow embroidery.”

“Not my words.” Yang felt the weight of Blake’s gaze on her, and after a moment she continued the quote, “‘But we can still love them—we can love completely without complete understanding.’”

Yang’s heart beat faster. Blake was probably just referencing what a sap Tukson was, but still, she tucked the words away to take out and search for hidden meanings later when she could wonder if Blake had meant it for her and get mildly irritated at herself for wanting it to be. In the meantime, she laughed it off.

“Sure we can. But that doesn’t mean we _should_.”

Blake huffed, sounding amused, but didn’t comment.

“Do you ever miss teaching?” Yang asked after a few moments of silence.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the faunus look at her quickly, a rare, genuinely surprised expression on her face. They almost never discussed their personal lives, a habit they’d fallen into after Argus, when every question about each other’s past seemed to tread too closely to some lie or misunderstanding from their less than ideal first case.

“What makes you ask that?”

“I dunno, it was just something I was wondering before in the flower shop—”

“Oh, good. Glad to hear your head was _firmly_ in the game.”

“—and the way you talk about books and shit sometimes. It sounds like you miss it.”

“This job has its perks,” Blake said vaguely. It was her usual deflection when anything about her life before the Trust came up. Yang expected it but couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed.

Up ahead, a bunch of cars were parked in the field running along the side of the road, and beyond them some bright, freestanding lights wiped out the stars. Yang thought of the last stadium lights she had seen: Blake nearly-nude in a cage, her face twisted with betrayal. Yang knowing it was her fault…

How could she dare think Blake owed her information about her personal life when she was responsible for that? How could she dare think Blake was quoting love poems at her? She was lucky to get whatever Blake chose to give her.

Blake nodded at the lights in the field. “With aliens in town, I like our chances of getting a room.”

“Hah. I want to believe,” Yang said.

The faunus man at the front desk of the motel was short, slight, and a well-crafted sort of handsome. Subtle jewelry in his ears, along with studs on his fox ears; glowing, poreless bronze skin; brows a tad too perfect to be natural; and a bright smile that got a lot brighter as he took in Blake. “Good evening, ladies. Can I help you?”

“Do you have any available rooms for tonight?”

“Absolutely. Will that be one room or…?” The man glanced over Yang with mild curiosity.

“Two,” Blake said. Of course it had to be two. The bureau was paying and couldn’t know they shared a room, but the satisfied smile on the man’s face still grated Yang’s nerves.

“Just the one night, you said? Too bad. Not nearly enough time…to see the sights.” The man fiddled around on the computer, filling out their payment information with slow, deliberate, one-fingered pecks. “In town on business?”

“No,” Yang said shortly.

Blake added in a nicer tone, “On our way back from business.”

“So it’s time for pleasure.” The man winked and his fingers lingered while handing Blake back her card. She smiled politely. Yang rolled her eyes. “Maybe you have time to take in a couple local legends after all. My name is Azul.”

Local legend number one, no doubt, Yang thought watching the way his fingers slid over Blake’s palm as he finally let go of the card.

“What would you recommend, Azul?” Blake asked, either clueless to the blatant flirtation or just didn't care.

“Depends on what you’re in the mood for. Food? Drinks? Fun?”

Blake looked at Yang questioningly. They’d eaten on the road, but Blake was pretty constantly hungry. Something to do with the metabolic needs of her daily shift to wolf form.

Yang concentrated on relaxing her jaw. “I’m not hungry,” she said, trying her best not to sound like a petulant child. Blake frowned and seemed like she was going to argue, and Yang’s stomach clenched.

Unfortunately, since they’d been partnered full-time she’d been forced to explain her eating needs to Blake. Ever since being attacked by a werewolf over a year ago and having thirty percent of her small intestine removed, Yang had needed to adjust her eating habits to smaller, more frequent meals to reduce the strain on her guts. She’d tried to hide it from Blake for as long as possible, not needing more reasons for her to think she was weak. For a time, Yang even tried to ignore her diet and eat what Blake was eating when she ate it—hard for even an average human person—and had paid some disastrously rough consequences. But they spent a lot of time together, and after a short couple weeks of working and sleeping together most days, Blake had awkwardly brought the subject up herself and Yang was forced to explain.

She regretted it every day.

Ever since then Blake had been hyper-vigilant that Yang was getting enough nutrition. She often cooked her little omelets in the morning before she woke, had started researching supplements and vitamins she thought Yang should take, and packed snacks for her on cases as if she was a child.

Blake opened her mouth now, almost certainly to insist Yang get some protein before bed. If she brought up her health issues and babied her in front of perfect-brows Azul, Yang was going to flip her shit. “Shouldn’t you—”

She didn't need protection and she didn't need pity.

She quickly cut Blake off. “So what else is there to do?”

Azul didn’t even look at her. “Well, if you came in off the highway, you may have noticed our very own famous haunted corn maze.”

Blake said, “We did see some lights.”

“After dark it’s for adults only. Best thrills in the county.”

Yang imagined wandering around a corn maze in the pitch black and decided she’d honestly prefer an alien abduction.

“And there’s the haunted hayride if you think you’re brave enough for some spooky stories. _Ooooo_.” Azul made a sound that might have been a ghost noise but sounded a bit too X-rated for your run-of-the-mill ghost.

It made Blake smile, though. “Isn’t it a little early for that stuff?” she asked.

“It’s never too early for a good _monster_ story to get the heart racing.” He winked. He seemed to linger just a bit on the word ’monster’. And was it Yang’s imagination, or did his eyes flicker, just a little? “Don’t you agree, ma’m?”

Yang grabbed her room’s key card off the desk and backed away. She felt flushed, her skin too tight, and the scratches on her shoulders were starting to throb. “I’m exhausted. I’m gonna head up. See you tomorrow.”

Blake looked startled by her sudden departure, but Azul cheerfully waved goodbye and Yang left—no, retreated. If she were a wolf, her tail would be glued between her legs. But she was just a woman. And a pretty pathetic one these days, at that.

Safely in her room, Yang tossed her bag in the corner, locked her weapons in the safe, and sat on the bed in her clothes. She checked her messages. Her boss, Special Agent in Charge Ironwood, had called to express his approval of the quick and efficient wrap-up to the case. Perhaps he hadn’t heard the full story of the flower shop incident. Penny, her young neighbor and cat sitter extraordinaire, had texted three pictures of Ember looking various shades of smug. She had apparently presented Penny with a large live cricket that morning. There were pictures of that as well. Yang wondered if she and Ember both had considered that a job well done and just let the critter hop back into the crevices of her apartment. She grimaced.

The sounds of footsteps and laughter drifted down the hall—Azul guiding Blake to the room next door to Yang’s, just in case she got lost in the _labyrinth_ of the _two-story motel_. Yang waited, barely breathing, until she heard the sound of Blake entering her room and Azul’s footsteps leaving, back down the hall, alone. She sighed, at the same time relieved and frustrated with herself for being so.

Yang briefly imagined going by Blake’s room and suggesting they go out and make time for some fun. They weren’t in any real rush to get back to Patch, after all. Now that this case was closed, they each had a couple days off. Days Yang had been planning to use to, well, talk. With Blake. About _them_. And what that meant, exactly. Or something.

Suddenly the thought of a night wandering around lost in a corn maze didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

Feeling twitchy and not at all tired anymore, she got up and rummaged through her overnight bag for the little tube of antibiotic ointment she kept with her at all times. It was tucked into a subtle inside pocket along with other personal items, which she had also started carrying with her. 

Besides, the case was over and she didn’t need two days to talk. In theory, anyway.

They probably had a _lot_ to work out. She and Blake had been fucking for almost four months now, and Yang still hadn’t found a way to clarify what was going on. Were they dating? Fuck buddies? Clumsily falling into each other’s pants with regularity? They didn’t go on dates. They worked together. They hung around Yang’s apartment watching movies and discussing books. They had sex. They didn’t talk about it.

Any sweet nothings exchanged happened in the dark while covered in sweat and other fluids, and were thus void. Most of the time Yang fully expected Blake would just stop showing up at her apartment one day and that would be that. They still wouldn’t talk about it and they’d keep working together, without the sex, until Yang imploded like a collapsing black hole of emotional repression.

In the hall she heard a knock, and for one embarrassingly giddy moment she thought it was Blake, using some ESP shit to eavesdrop on Yang’s neuroses and here to tell her she did care and she would never stop showing up.

Yang kicked herself. _Have some shame, Xiao Long._

But then she heard the door to the room next to her open and recognized the flirty receptionist’s voice, back _again_. Yang hurried to her door and peered out the peephole but couldn’t see anything at that angle. Feeling absurdly childish, she strained her inferior human ears to hear, but Blake’s voice had dropped to a murmur.

Yang imagined what she’d do if she didn’t hear the footsteps leaving alone this time. If instead she heard two voices move into the other room. She wished she weren’t too chickenshit to walk out into the hall and confess her feelings onto Blake right then and there.

Of course she wouldn’t. She couldn’t risk word getting back to the bureau. They’d separate them as partners at a minimum, and despite what SAC Ironwood had assured her, she still felt her position with the BSI was tentative at best.

That’s what Yang told herself. But that wasn’t the real reason. Even if Blake was a wolf, the chances of this Azul guy somehow finding out they were BSI agents and reporting an inappropriate relationship to HQ were nonexistent. It was the relationship part that kept Yang frozen in place, listening at peepholes. She just didn’t have the right to stake claims on anyone.

In the hall, the voices ceased and Blake’s door closed softly. Yang tensed. Held her breath. Listened. But the TV in the room on the other side suddenly switched on, and she couldn’t hear voices coming from Blake’s. Or footsteps leaving.

Yang forced herself back to her bag and pulled off her T-shirt to get a look at the scratches. They couldn’t even really be called that. More like four angry pinpricks that faded in comparison to the bruises around them. Still, they stung like hell as she rubbed the ointment in. Everything was hurting more than before for some reason.

She put her T-shirt back on, and then, after a moment’s consideration, her jacket, too. If caught, she could pretend to be looking for the vending machines. Blake would even approve of that, as long as it was trail mix.

Yang checked that the coast was clear and then stepped into the hall. Not breathing and stepping as softly as possible, she crept the few short feet to Blake’s door and listened for voices. She swore to the Brothers, if she heard Azul making any ’ghost sounds’, she would—

Blake’s muted laughter hummed through the wall. Yang knocked on the door before she could get a rational thought in. Three official knocks. And then another three. And another.

Across the hall, a woman in pajamas opened her door a crack, keeping the chain on, and peered out. “What the hell—”

Yang showed her badge. “BSI. Back in your room, ma’am.” She slammed her door shut promptly.

She was about to knock again when Blake’s door opened. She had changed into an oversized T-shirt and was smiling softly. She looked warm and relaxed in every line of her body except for her bare feet. Those were tensed and she rocked slightly but continuously on the front pads, but that was typical. A quirk Yang had noticed not long after Blake had started spending most nights at her apartment. Yang would always wake after Blake did and find her rocking gently on her toes by the stove, cooking them breakfast. The familiar sight released something tight and snarled in Yang’s throat, and she sighed.

She was _so_ fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1, so it wouldn’t be super long. Be on the lookout for Part 2 :)


	3. Episode 2: Pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spice, but nothing graphic. Prepare for an emotional rollercoaster :o

Blake really _was_ gonna be the death of her.

The reprieve was short-lived when Blake raised a single dark eyebrow in surprise and said, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Expecting someone else?” Yang grumbled, and walked past her into the room. She glanced around the empty space and frowned at the television where some woman was gesturing excitedly from a murderer’s apartment while a man flipped out in his wheelchair across the way. Yang punched the off button aggressively.

“Hey. Didn’t you say I should watch that?” Blake asked. She’d closed the door and was leaning against the little desk pushed against the wall. Her hands held the edge and her shoulders turned in on themselves, making her look smaller than usual, purposefully unguarded and non-threatening.

Yang recognized this stance, too. She’d watched Blake slip into it often enough while interviewing suspects and witnesses: humans who got edgy, their brains picking up on some predatory aura Blake gave off, or other wolves who recognized her as a threat, no subconscious necessary. Blake would pull in on herself like she could trick them into calming down. The weird thing was, it usually worked. And now she was using it on Yang, looking touchable and comfortable and sweet.

Yang fought it, unwilling to let go of her irritation yet and admit she’d stormed in here for no reason. She murmured, “Yeah, well. Who starts a movie right in the middle?” It was a playful argument they had often, lounging around her apartment. How could so much about Blake feel so familiar while Yang still knew so little about her?

Blake tilted her head. “Is that why you were yelling at the neighbors and trying to break down my door? To critique my viewing experience?” She shook her head, mock-impressed. “Eloquent.”

Yang pouted but drifted toward her anyway like she was being magnetically pulled, and Blake shuffled her legs apart slightly until she attempted to match Yang’s taller height. Yang ran a hand over Blake’s sleeves, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles, and didn’t look her in the eye.

“No.” Yang cleared her throat. “I thought I heard a knock earlier.”

“Hmm,” Blake hummed, arching into the touch slightly, without moving her hands. She always seemed slightly colder than most, compared to her own warm body temperature. Whether that was a wolf thing or a Blake thing, Yang wasn’t sure.

After a moment, when it became clear Blake wasn’t going to continue, Yang pressed. “Was that the ever-helpful Azul?” She worked hard to keep the question banally curious, but when she glanced up, Blake’s lips were twitching with repressed amusement. “What did he want?”

“To be helpful. More or less.” Blake shrugged, but one of her hands drifted forward to ghost down the blonde’s spine. Reassuring, comforting.

“Yeah. ’Help’ you take a roll in his hayride,” Yang bit out, but even as she did, her hands gentled and dipped lower, playing with the hem of Blake’s shirt.“What did you tell him?”

“The truth.”

Yang hoped she couldn’t feel her hands tremble. “Which is?”

“I told him I already had urgent plans.”

“Oh, do you?” Yang stiffened and pulled away slightly, only to be trapped by Blake’s hand at her back.

Blake skated her nose along Yang’s jawline, into her hair, inhaling deeply and then back down to nuzzle the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Mhm. I had the middle of a movie to catch.”

Yang snorted. “Then I can’t say I’m sorry for interrupting.” She dragged the tips of her fingers down the front of Blake’s toned thighs, partially hidden by the shirt’s edge.

The faunus fidgeted, chasing Yang’s fingers, but her face remained unchanged, calm and mildly amused. “Oh, that’s okay. If I’m really, _really_ lucky I’ll make it just in time for the end.”

“I doubt it.” Yang murmured, ragged and husky.

As she said, she wouldn't lay claim on Blake. Blake wasn't hers. She’d show her though. _Oh_ , how she’d show her.

She nudged Blake back, and dropped to her knees, pushing her shirt up slightly. She pushed her face near Blake’s short-shorts. She smiled up at her, devilishly delicious and eyes bleeding crimson.

The raven-haired woman huffed and ran her hand gently through locks of spun gold just long enough to get a good grip in. She’d have to get her hair dealt with soon. Certainly before she saw her dad. Not that she had any plans to see her father soon. But the recently retired Sheriff Xiao Long had been blowing up her scroll about three times a day for the last week, and Yang couldn’t dodge his calls forever. That kind of persistence usually meant he was going to successfully guilt Yang into a visit.

“Hey.” Blake pulled her hips away. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m right here. Who _else’s_ mouth did you think was–”

“Jealous, Agent Xiao Long?”

Yang looked away from Blake’s too-knowing gaze and laid her face against the crease of her thigh. “Why would I be?”

Blake couldn’t pull back again with the desk pressing into her ass, so she gently pushed Yang’s face away, thumb on her chin.

Yang sighed pointedly. She could usually count on sex with Blake as the one thing that reliably turned her mind off. If she was busy fooling around she couldn’t be expected to do anything else, like fix things (like herself) or talk. But lately even these precious, simple moments were being interrupted by her mind pinballing around all the things she tried to avoid. And Blake wasn’t helping.

She didn't _want_ to think. Her mind was an abyss, and falling into it would just send her spiraling down into an infinite rabbit hole of melancholy and other disastrous sentiments.

It was her own personal prison and she was on death row, waiting for her demise, waiting for the light to go out and the fog to roll in.

And _yet_...

“I don’t know,” Blake said delicately, like she was picking her words carefully, keeping her tone intentionally light. “Shall we examine the clues? You ran off in the lobby when Azul started talking with me. You were skulking in the hallway.” Yang started to protest but Blake cut her off, saying, “I could hear you. And then you kicked in my door because you _thought_ you heard a knock.”

Yang made a face at her, embarrassed and annoyed. Time to get Blake back on track and off focusing on _her_. She dipped her head so that Blake’s thumb slid across her mouth. She licked the pad and murmured, “You wanna solve a mystery now, _Detective_? Really?” She bit the thumb gently, enjoying the sound of Blake’s breath hitching.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about something…”

This was the opening Yang should have been looking for. But if it didn’t go well…and if she didn’t get the answer she wanted…and if…and _if_ …

Avoid, avoid, avoid, her heart beat. She felt another wave of longing for the peace of single-minded, no-expectations sex.

“Mhm. Okay.” Yang slipped her lips around her thumb and sucked, looking up at Blake in what she _hoped_ was an alluring way to try and throw her off. By the way her eyes looked; gold swallowed by the black of her pupils, it definitely did _something_.

She could be seductive when she wanted to be, though. Being visually satisfying was one hell of a commodity.

She worked her tongue around Blake’s thumb and tried to inject some sultry knowingness into her eyes.

Unbelievably, Blake was _still_ talking, though admittedly her voice was a bit ragged. “…I mean, if there’s anything you want to say about something…”

Yang released Blake’s thumb with a pop. “Brothers, you just don’t quit. Like a dog with a bone.”

“I’m going to pretend that wasn't mildly insulting,” Blake murmured, pushing a blonde strand from Yang’s face. “I just don’t want you to think—”

“Yes, I agree!” Yang interrupted. “I don’t want me to think either.” She softened her tone and slid her hands slowly up Blake’s thighs. “The only mystery I want to work on right now is the mystery of Agent Belladonna, in the motel room”—she pulled Blake’s shorts and underwear down, watching her eyes narrow in interest—“and what’s happening _downstairs_.”

Blake giggled. “Gods, you’re such a dork—”

She choked off when Yang guided a leg onto her shoulder and went in for the kill. Her left hand reached around to grip her hip.

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” Blake gasped, and ran her hand gently through Yang’s hair. Yang didn’t want to go down that mental road again. Instead she concentrated on the quivering muscles of Blake’s thighs as she resisted thrusting and taking her tongue deeper.

”That’s the idea.”

”S-shut up.”

Yang looked up at her. Her eyes were closed and her head was to the side in an almost quizzical tilt as she let out little noises. What was she thinking about? _Who_ was she thinking about?

Yang felt a ridiculous spike of possessiveness and annoyance. She pulled her mouth away and gave her hip bone a tap until Blake’s eyes opened. She looked down at the woman, taking in the view of red eyes and a glistening mouth.

“Open your eyes,” Yang demanded. She licked her lips before turning her head slightly and scraping the skin of her thigh with teeth. Blake growled so low in her throat, Yang swore she could feel it in her bones. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Not in fear. Not exactly, anyway. Not in a way she could ever explain without Blake getting that puckered, worried look. But there was vulnerability there. And that frightened Yang still.

Teeth bit into skin, sucking, hard enough to leave a mark. “Mine,” she whispered.

She felt Blake’s whole body twitch, and looked up to catch a strange expression flicker across her face. Her eyes were unnaturally dilated and gleaming. Well, natural for her. But Yang had an even harder time reading her than usual when she was like this.

“Yours,” Blake said, voice breathy, restrained. ”Yours.”

  
____

Yang groaned after flopping onto the mattress and became aware of Blake’s hand stroking up and down her arm, tracing invisible shapes into her skin. Gentle, soothing.

She pulled away, avoiding those golden eyes. “I should, um, take a shower.”

Something in them made her panic.

She slipped out of bed and pulled her pants back up with a wince, aching, then got up and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door. She hesitated over the lock. She wanted desperately to be alone, but locking it seemed like a slap in the face if Blake heard it and wasn’t even intending to follow. And of course she would hear it.

Yang left it untouched and hurried out of her clothes and into the shower, turning the temperature up to blistering heat. Hotel water always got so much hotter than her own apartment’s, but she didn’t feel as appreciative as usual.

She felt raw. A stripped wire, exposed, delicate and flinching. It wasn’t…bad. But it triggered her need for space. As if one touch or one word would zap them both.

Or worse, she’d cave and say something stupid.

People got a free pass for the shit they say during sex. That was just common courtesy. But directly afterwards was the most dangerous time for Yang, and before she admitted anything, she had to be sure she wasn’t alone.

She aggressively scrubbed hotel shampoo through her hair and then down her body. It smelled like every other generic soap out there. How many hotels had she and Blake shared together in the last four months? There’d been a lot. A lot of solved cases, done by the book, including today, though perhaps it wasn’t as clean a finish as Yang would have liked. Whatever her colleagues said, they were good partners. In the field, and in bed.

Frankly, Yang had been in committed, monogamous relationships with a lot less chemistry, so why was it so hard to say she wanted something like that for them? They had fun together. Wanting to continue that fun under a different name—or any name, really—shouldn’t be such a big deal.

It’s not like she was saying she was in love or anything... She’d only met her a few months ago and knew almost nothing about her. That would be totally crazy...They got along well and she wanted to find out if Blake planned on them continuing to get along well for the foreseeable future, or if she was interested in getting along well with anyone else. Because if not, Yang wanted to know now before she started to really feel anything stronger for her. And that was it. _Right?_

Yang finished and dried off, wrapping the towel around her body. She was grateful Blake had left her alone and given her space to recover herself. She always did without complaint, even though she knew Blake liked to be physically affectionate post-sex. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? If Blake just wanted a fuck buddy, there were lower maintenance options all over the place. In fact, one was just a shout away, wandering the halls and “ooo-ing” like the Ghost of Christmas Ass. Yang bet perfect-brows Azul wouldn’t run out on a cuddle.

She grimaced and went back into the bedroom. Blake was sitting on the bed, Yang’s leather jacket in her lap. She was playing with the holes where Albain’s claws had ripped through the material, beneath the arm, but she wasn’t looking at it, just staring thoughtfully toward the huge window. The tip of her tongue traced the scar on her upper lip.

Yang sat beside her on the bed and touched her shoulder lightly. _Just say it. What’s the worst that could happen?_

“I—Blake, I actually do want to talk to you. About before…” She took a deep breath.

“You told me you wouldn’t go in alone,” Blake said.

Yang swallowed her words, completely thrown off balance. She hurriedly tried to recalibrate. “That’s not what I—we already talked about this,” she said slowly, frustrated that Blake, usually so in tune with her needs, had chosen this moment to misunderstand her. A small, frightened part of her wondered if it was intentional. Wondered if she was being cut off before she began to mercifully save them both the humiliation of unrequited…interest. “I told you I saw Tukson closing suspiciously early. I went in to stall.”

“You knew I was on my way with the search warrant. You should have waited for me. Like we said.”

“Like _you_ said.”

Blake looked at her at last, brow furrowed. “I didn’t realize you had a problem with my authority.”

Yang sputtered. “Excuse me? Your _authority_?”

“I didn’t mean—” Blake’s face was regretful, but it was too late.

“Is that who you are? My boss? The big bad wolf?” That was a low blow.

She flinched like Yang knew she would. Blake avoided all language that could be considered animalistic. Her ex-pack was her “family who she had grown apart from.” Her daily need to shift was “getting a run in.” And those words were just a big fat no-fly zone. And not because it wasn’t applicable.

Yang wasn’t an idiot. Most of the time. She had seen the way other Trust members treated Blake. Wary respect. Some with deference. Others avoidance. Blake and Agent Schnee in particular went out of their way to not cross paths.

“I like her,” Blake had explained when Yang commented on it, wondering if there was bad blood there. “I respect her. We just have a couple of strong personalities and that doesn’t always…mesh.”

Yang’s eyebrows had shot off her face. Winter Schnee was the most stone-faced, humorless, and hardass person she had ever met. She’d always seemed to be that way. She was also the best interrogator they had. Sometimes all she had to do was walk into the room and the suspect would start confessing. Must be that _strong_ personality.

She’d always been polite, if a bit standoffish, with Yang. All the Trust people were, though. Still, she liked her and her sister more than the rest of that fucked up family.

Despite having more reason to hate her, the wolf agents never once gave Yang a hard time the way her own fellow human BSI agents did. She had asked Blake about it once, half-joking, relaxed, worn out and naked in bed around the second week of them being partners. “Is that because of you? Have you stuck some kind of _‘No Trespassing, Property of’_ sign on my back?”

Yang never forgot the look of horror on Blake’s face. “I have not once thought of you like that,” she finally said brusquely, rolling away from her and avoiding her eyes.

Yang felt like Blake had sucker-punched her. “..Yeah. Of course. I was just joking.” And she sort of had been.

About the sign.

But, _damn_.

That clear look of aversion, quickly masked, was as obvious a rejection as Yang needed.

_That isn’t what this is. Don’t get attached._

Yang had never tried to reference or clarify their sexual relationship again.

Until now.

She hadn’t even gotten close to the topic and Blake had that familiar look of horror on again. Because of what she said? Or because Yang had dared hint that there was something else between them besides work and sex?

Yang pushed the panic back and tried to rewind, laugh it off. “So if you’re my mate does that mean I’m in your pack now? What are the health benefits like? Paid vacation?”

“No. Of course not. You know we’re not… not like that,” Blake said, and this time she didn’t go with the joke.

_Because she doesn’t want you to embarrass yourself hoping for more._

“Right, ’course not.” The bitterness in Yang’s voice clunked out and fell flat between them like a bat making contact with the ball all wrong. Ugly, weak, and dead on impact.

Blake must have heard it, too, because _of course_ she did, when she spoke again her voice was gentle and unsure. “You’re my partner, Yang. I don’t—I respect you as my partner. I don’t think of you like a—in that way. Our…” Blake paused and then gestured between them. “This other stuff doesn’t change that.”

The hurt, confusion, and disappointment all clamored to the surface, wanting to be the first out of Yang’s mouth. She pushed everything aside to deal with later, in private, and latched on to the anger. She always did. A lot of her anger was usually directed inwards but there were times, like now, where it did the opposite. She was only human.

She had her flaws. Her many, many flaws.

She felt heat blazing behind her eyes.

“Okay, _partner_. Then how about respecting my fucking decision to pursue the suspect as _I_ saw fit?”

“I–Yang—”

“Because you know I’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you have.” She could see Blake’s frustration growing. Her corneas were expanding slightly, the carefully contained animal within waking up at the blatant disrespect.

_Good._

_Get angry,_ Yang thought. She wanted Blake as furious as she was. She was so sick of always being the one to lose control. Of being the one left trembling and unraveled at her feet. The one who had to run and hide her emotions behind closed doors because gods fucking forbid she share herself with someone who wasn’t willing to share back. Who even now was trying to retreat behind the same blankly professional mask she gave everyone else.

“I _know_ you’re a good agent. I didn’t say you weren’t. But sometimes—” Blake shook her head.

“This has really not been your night for finishing a sentence. Sometimes _what_?”

Amber eyes flashed, and if possible her face got stonier.

“I, the senior agent, made a call, and y’know what? It got us Albain.”

“It got us _this_ ,” Blake countered, holding up the torn jacket.

“What, a ripped jacket? I was planning on getting that let out in the shoulders anyway.” Yang shrugged as blasély as she could. “Saves me a trip to the tailor.”

“Don’t _joke_ about that.” The faunus threw the jacket across the room.

Yang’s heart raced. Fuck hayrides, the thrill of a good argument was burning through her veins. Vaguely, she knew she should stop, turn back before she broke something irreparable. But the moment she stopped feeling angry, the hurt would set in.

“What’s this about _really_? Is it what happened before? With…” She could hardly say the name. She bit it out with disgust. “With Winchester? You really don’t trust me on my own with a suspect? Just like the rest of them.”

“Of course I do,” Blake asserted, sounding exasperated. “That’s not it at all. If I don’t trust you with anyone, it’s _yourself_.”

Yang stopped short. “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain that one to me.”

Blake eyed the scratches on her shoulder, glanced at her arm, and then looked down, lingering on the three slight scars across Yang’s belly peeking out of the towel around her body as she adjusted, still prominent well over a year later.

“Sometimes I worry you aren’t being careful. Like you need to prove something or”—Blake gently took the blonde’s hand and squeezed—“like you don’t care what happens to you.”

Yang blinked, shocked enough that her anger disappeared for the moment, like a cloud passing across the sun. “You think I’m, what, trying to get myself killed?”

“No. I did not say that,” She stated firmly.

“But you think I take unnecessary risks. You don’t think I can handle myself properly in the field.” Yang hesitated, but this time Blake didn’t argue. “That doesn’t sound like you respect me as an agent.”

Blake shook her head and stroked Yang’s hand with her thumb. “No, I do. I worry, though. I just want to protect you.”

_What?_  
  
Yang laughed quietly, frustrated that Blake was toying with the line that she herself had drawn not five minutes ago. “But that’s not how this works. We’re partners, remember? _Just_ partners. I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you to worry about me and feed me. I’m an adult. I don’t need you.”

Yang’s breath caught as the last words slipped out. But it was too late. Blake’s face had gone carefully blank. She let go of her hand.

“Blake, that-that’s not what I—”

“No, I understand. And look, you’re right. Of course.” She looked away. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t respect or trust your abilities. That was never my intention.”

“Blake—”

“Yang, _please_. I’m tired.” Blake hesitated, and Yang couldn’t breathe waiting for the rest of that sentence. Tired of what? Tired of having this conversation? Tired of taking this BS? Tired of you? “...I just want to sleep.”

Ah. _That_ kind of tired. Either that or she’d changed her mind. Because, some people actually, y’know, _think_ before speaking so as not to hurt others. Blake pulled off her clothes quickly, tossing them across the room with uncharacteristic messiness.

“Can I…” Yang didn’t even want to ask because she didn’t want to be denied. She cleared her throat. “Can I stay?”

“Yeah,” She said. Soothing words, but the tone was flat and she didn’t quite look at Yang as she said it, busying herself with getting under the covers.

Yang settled in beside her, not touching, and turned off the lights.

The sudden darkness counterintuitively made the room feel less intimate than before. Lights and shadows from the road invaded the space and danced across the ceiling. The occasional voices of people in other rooms drifted in through the walls. Yang felt exposed and alone. She wanted to reach for Blake, to reassure herself of that connection, that she was still… _there_. But the potential pain from Blake pulling away from the touch or, gods, outright rejecting it, far outweighed the slightly sickening feeling of being shut out from her.

Yang put her hand tentatively in the space between them in bed and watched her own fingers play with the sheet for a while. Then she studied Blake’s profile from under her lashes. Her mouth looked soft and relaxed, and she longed to brush her fingers over it. The faunus’ eyes were still open but unfocused, awake but not really here. Obviously lost in thoughts that Yang could only guess at but did not seem particularly pleasant.

The fear of what those thoughts could be pulled Yang’s hand back from the middle ground and rolled her over so her back was to her. She curled up slightly and didn’t dare move again until morning.


End file.
